


Wonder If It's Painful?

by TobyAddison



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Gen, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobyAddison/pseuds/TobyAddison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a post on Tumblr. My longest one-shot to date. I'm not apologizing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonder If It's Painful?

Michael Reed exited the doctor’s office, avoiding eye contact with the five robots and two humans sitting anxiously in the waiting room. He hadn’t wanted them all to come, but they had insisted – Matt and Steve along with The Spine, Rabbit, Hatchworth, and Walter Girls B and P, who The Spine and Rabbit had named Brianna and Paige, respectively. Michael took a few faltering steps towards the group and then stopped, opening and closing his eyes slowly as the silence spread on. Finally, someone spoke. 

“What’s the verdict, Mr. Reed?” The Spine. He had been the most involved with this, the one who had seemed to understand it best. Michael shuddered involuntarily before clearing his throat. 

“He said…” The tall man cleared his throat again, barely able to talk above a whisper. “The doctor said…” He shook his head. “Three months. I have three months.” A collective gasp among the people in front of him, and suddenly Michael felt arms wrapped around his stomach, his back, his shoulders, anywhere they could reach. The weight of all seven people crushed around him, and he felt the tears begin to fall, streaming down his face.

Three months to live.

\----------

The humans at Walter Manor didn’t go to the doctor enough. In between repairing the robots and working the shows, there wasn’t enough time. Maybe a check-up once a year if they were lucky. Nothing too big, though. No thorough examinations; nothing like what the robots themselves got.

Michael had brushed the symptoms off at first. Fatigue? He did a lot of work. Back pain? He was standing up most of the time. Fever? He was coming down with something. It wasn’t until they got really bad – the sudden weight loss, the blood in his – well – it wasn’t until then that he decided to get things checked out.

He had kidney cancer.

By the time they figured out what it was, the cancer had already spread to different parts of his body. It wouldn’t respond to any type of chemotherapy or radiation, so the best they could do was remove what they could and try their best to make him comfortable. There was no hope for a cure.

And now he had three months to live.

\----------

They had encouraged him to take it easy. Now he did less repair work and played less at performances. In his spare time, he sat around Walter Manor. Read books. The Jon came to visit once a week, a previously fun activity that was now dulled by everyone’s sudden concern for his physical health. But he managed. As time went on and the disease took more of a toll on his body, more and more of this time was dedicated to sleeping. He always felt so tired.

Finally, one night, they approached him. The Spine and Rabbit, as well as Steve. The ones who had known him the longest. The Spine did most of the talking, as usual. He said that maybe it was time for Michael to stop. That he was expending too much of his energy just for them, that he needed more time to rest. There was a big show coming up that weekend; wouldn’t that be a good way to end things? Do one last concert with them before just taking a permanent break from it all?

_No,_ Michael thought. _No, it wouldn’t be._ This was his whole life. Walter Manor was literally all he had ever known – he had appeared on the back doorstep as a baby and had basically been raised by the ’bots. He couldn’t just stop. He looked up from his hands, ready to argue that he could do it, if only for just a little while longer, when suddenly he made eye contact with Steve. Steve, the rough-and-tumble sound technician who’d never shown a negative emotion in all the time Michael had known him – he wasn’t – he couldn’t be – those couldn’t be tears. But they were. Nothing spilling over the edges, but definite moisture in his eyes. Michael swallowed thickly.

They wanted the best for him; he knew that. And the best for him was making sure he was in the least amount of pain as possible. And that meant no more performing. It wasn’t as if he would have all that much time left to spend performing, anyways.

“Okay,” Michael said quietly. Rabbit’s head snapped up, and The Spine’s eyes widened. They hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. Steve put a hand on Michael’s arm, and he didn’t have the energy to shake it off. “You’re right. I… I’ve been pushing myself too hard. I don’t have all that much time left as it is, and trying to keep working will only make things worse.” He nodded jerkily. “I just want to say… I want to say thanks to you guys. Thanks for everything. And don’t… don’t miss me too much when I’m gone, okay? Find someone else to replace me. Promise me you can do that.” The titanium and silver robot in front of him nodded, although Michael wasn’t sure that meant it was a deal.

Finally Steve removed his hand from the taller man’s arm, only to bring it back to wrap his friend in a bone-crushing hug. Rabbit and The Spine joined in, and Michael felt tears on his face for what wasn’t the first time and what wouldn’t be the last.

\----------

 

The show was finally there. They were at the Queen Bee’s again, and Michael felt like he was forcing himself through every song. Even standing up while playing the keyboard was becoming a difficulty. “Electricity is in My Soul” seemed to drag on for even longer than usual, and Michael was grateful the band had voted to install a short intermission in the middle of the performance. Not even bothering to leave the stage, the man promptly sunk down onto the stool behind the drum set before taking a huge gulp from his water bottle.

The break was over far too quickly, and Michael found himself standing behind the keyboard again. Because it was his last show, they were letting him do both “Prelude to a Dream” and “Make Believe”. That made him happy. He very rarely had a chance to perform “Make Believe”, and he couldn’t think of a recent time when he had gotten to do its companion piece live. And now he got to do both at his last show ever.

_Deep breaths, Michael._ The crowd was waiting. He placed his hands over the correct keys, inhaling and exhaling a few more time to steady himself. Then he began.

“Here I go again.  
I’m breaking up;  
I’m shutting down now.  
Inside, outside, decommission:  
Wonder if it’s painful?”

The meaning of those words suddenly hit him, and there was almost a slight pause before he began again.

“Reading love and writing love;  
Technically the same.  
I am a living thing.  
I am not a human being,  
But I’m alive.  
I’m alive!”

Michael tried his best to make a rapid switch from the keyboard to the guitar, but he still missed a few of the opening chords. Oh well. The audience wouldn’t notice. He made it through the opening bit, and then started the first verse.

“People, why just talk about it?  
Can’t we live without all that bounds–”

He had to stop to bite back a cough, but the audience and the ’bots carried it on. He started again.

“Break it. Don’t be afraid to shake it.  
We’re not afraid to shake it around in society,  
Make believe!”

His voice cracked a bit at the end. _Keep it together, Reed._

“Hey, kids, whaddaya know?  
What do you think you’re doing?  
I say, pardon me,  
I’m dancing for no reason!”

Michael started the next part, playing on and singing some of the la’s before abruptly halting. The rest of the band kept playing, thinking he had just paused for a second, but the tall man shook his head. “I can’t do this.” The crowd hushed and the rest of the band turned around to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I can’t…” Michael cleared his throat and shook his head again. “This isn’t working. I have to go.” He walked jerkily up to The Spine and spoke quietly enough so the microphone wouldn’t pick it up. “Explain to them what’s going on and finish the show. I’ll be waiting in the van. Don’t worry about me; take as long as you need. See you in a bit.” He patted the automaton on the arm, set his guitar down, and walked off the stage. In the background, he heard The Spine begin to tell the crowd what was happening with him.

Less than two months left, now.

\----------

A month and a half left. Michael knew the doctor’s prediction couldn’t be 100% accurate, but he was counting down his days now. He spent more and more time in his bed and sitting down in chairs than he did standing up. Talking took a lot of energy. The Jon’s visits lasted two or three days at a time. Most of their time together was spent with The Jon telling stories of his adventures in Kazoo Land and Biscuit Town.

\----------

One month left. Michael was very rarely standing up now. Even the smallest actions made him feel like he had just run a marathon. He hated it. He felt so useless. The band was away at another show, and The Jon was staying with him for the few days they were gone. It made Michael think of when he was a kid and The Jon babysat him.

\----------

A few weeks left. Maybe less. Michael wasn’t sure. When you did the same thing every day, especially when most of your time was spent sleeping or resting, your days started to run together. Sometimes The Jon was there, sometimes he wasn’t. Other people came to see him, too. Their faces began to blur. He thought some of the girls from the zoo might have come by, but he didn’t know for a fact.

\----------

There wasn’t much time left. Michael could feel it. A few days, maybe. A week if he was lucky. Or maybe that was if he was unlucky.

The Jon had been with him for the last few days. He’d stayed by the bed the whole time. Michael knew he would stay until the man’s time was up, and probably afterwards for a little while to mourn. Then he’d go back to Biscuit Town. Or at least that’s what Michael hoped would happen.

\----------

The Jon studied the large hand resting lightly on top of his gold one. Michael hadn’t talked in several days. He wasn’t completely unresponsive; whenever he was awake, the human would make and maintain eye contact with the gold robot, and he would make slight changes in his facial expression to reflect his opinion on what The Jon was talking about, but that was about it. The robot hated seeing his friend like this, but he knew it wouldn’t be too long before it was all over and he wouldn’t be in pain anymore. He wouldn’t be in pain anymore… and that was the part that mattered.

Right now, the person dubbed the One Man Band was asleep. The Jon moved his gaze up to Michael’s face, smiling slightly as he observed the calm expression hosted there. Sleep seemed to be the only time the man could get any peace nowadays. Per the gold automaton’s request, there were barely any visitors anymore, but Michael was in so much pain when he was awake it was a surprise he could get to sleep at all. This was one of many times The Jon was grateful not to be human, no matter how many times he wished to be a “real boy”.

The Jon watched Michael breathing, as there wasn’t much else to do. For the past few days, it had been slow and shallow, with a raggedness that frightened The Jon. Michael was taking everything so hard… when would it all be over?

As if his thought had triggered an action, The Jon watched Michael’s breaths slow down to the point that they were almost unnoticeable. The robot put two fingers on the inside of his friend’s wrist, feeling the very faint pulse through his skin. Not too much longer now.

_Thump._

The Jon closed his eyes.

_Thump._

It almost hadn’t come that time.

_Thump._

Did it always take this long for someone to die?

_Thump._

The Jon had never been with someone while they were dying.

_Thump._

Come on, Michael. You don’t have to fight this time.

…

Had that been a heartbeat? The Jon couldn’t tell. If it had been, it was only half a beat.

_thump._

There. Just a little bit.

…

Silence.

It was over.

The Jon leaned forward, placing his head on Michael’s chest.

It was all over.

Michael was gone.

If robots could have cried, The Jon would’ve been sobbing.

But at least he was in a better place now.

Wasn’t he?

The Jon abruptly sat up, pulling his shirt open and fumbling with the latch that held the hatch in his torso closed. Finally the door swung open, and the robot reached inside, carefully guiding his fingers to a switch he never thought he’d have a use for. He couldn’t see it at the moment, but he knew it was labeled “Mission Complete”.

Flipping the switch would shut him down. Permanently.

The Jon took a deep breath.

_I’ll see you on the other side, Michael. If there is one._


End file.
